


Manners Maketh Matrimony

by Regency



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Kingsman 2 Speculation, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Off-screen Minor Character Death, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Surprise kids I bet you thought you saw the last of ME!, Surprisingly introspective, UST, Weddings, a smidge of angst, back from the dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/pseuds/Regency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after surviving Kentucky, Harry sneaks into Eggsy's wedding in the hopes of confessing his love before Eggsy marries someone else.  Chaos naturally ensues. </p><p>(Contains speculation for Kingsman 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manners Maketh Matrimony

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AggressivelyBisexual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AggressivelyBisexual/gifts).



> Written for the Summer 2016 Hartwin Secret Santa, recipient: AggressivelyBisexual (to which I say, #same).
> 
> Ah, blame this [post](http://textsfromthetailors.tumblr.com/post/147812551007/submitted-by-thatonepokedork-305-false-alarm) from Texts From the Tailors and this gorgeous [edit](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/141652145730/li-prouvaire-william-shakespeare-pericles-h) by li-prouvaire on Tumblr. The pacing is hell but there ya go.

 

_Oh, come_

_Be buried_

_A second time_

_Within these arms._

 

**\--William Shakespeare, _Pericles_.**

+++

Harry found out about the wedding the way the rest of the International Kingsman Consortium learned about the wedding: idle gossip around the watercooler. Because spies were trained busybodies with loose lips enough to sink an armada for all their talk of discretion.

 Eggsy Unwin, codename Galahad, was getting married.

And Harry, incidentally listening at the door to the Statesman employee kitchen, found he no longer had a taste for the coffee he’d craved all morning.  He had much more pressing matters to attend to, in England.

 

+++

Eggsy faked another smile and shook another hand, and tried to make the best of his time in Sweden. He didn’t plan to return, ever if he could help it, but for this mission to succeed, he’d have to make a good show of it.

Tilde laced her fingers through his, her smile bright in the face of an adoring public audience.  She’d invited select members of the community into the palace to offer their best wishes on the occasion of Princess Tilde’s royal engagement and the turnout had been massive. There was a line extending from the right of the throne, down the length of the long throne room and out the castle doors to the front gate.  There had to be a hundred visitors come to pay their respect to the princess and her prince-consort-to-be. They would be here for hours yet.

_There’s gotta be another way._

Barring that other way emerging in before teatime, Eggsy and Tilde were to be married in a week’s time at a cathedral in London.

Eggsy reflexively tightened his hands into fists until Tilde shifted in discomfort and sank her nails into the meat of his palm to get him to ease his grip on his fiancée’s hand.

Eggsy offered her an apologetic smile and got a chiding, tolerant quirk of the lips in return.  Tilde had put up with a lot from Eggsy since agreeing to take part in Kingsman’s game-changing ruse, the least he could do was be on his best behavior.

It was just taking such a long time. It had been months since Kingsman HQ had been destroyed in an unprovoked attack by parties unknown.  Their ranks had been decimated. 75% of Kingsman UK personnel had been lost, with the only survivors being those out on missions and those dwelling belowground in the reinforced sub-levels of the manor. Merlin and Roxy had survived. Percival hadn’t. Roxy hadn’t been the same since. That was part of why Eggsy had agreed to this: Make a Kingsman front and center of an international event, draw the attention of their attackers, and when they showed themselves, take them down. That was the plan.

It was shaping up to be the slowest fucking plan Eggsy had ever been part of.

Weddings took time, he knew that.  There was the popping of the question, the formal engagement and informing of loved ones, and then there was the planning. Eggsy had a mum, a baby sister, and badass lady spy with control issues for a best mate; he’d heard his fair share about how a dream wedding came together. His baby sister’s playtime nuptials to her Teddy Ruxpin alone seemed to last forever. He hadn’t taken into account how much worse a real world, grownup, full-blown _royal_ wedding could be.

His to Tilde had been months in the making, beginning with a lavish party where he appeared in his borrowed military attire and presented the princess with a family ring from the royal jewel collection to raucous applause from the media and assembled guests. She had, of course, agreed at once, face in a flush and tears in her eyes, and later she had given him a ring, too. Hollywood had lost out; Princess Tilde was easily as good an actress as she was a leader.  Eggsy almost believed she’d fallen in love with her ‘English savior,’ that he was the man she wanted to share her life with.  That made the waiting harder, because Eggsy wasn’t much of an actor when it came down to it.  He couldn’t even pretend he felt the same.  _This is the job. Do the job._

He kissed the back of Tilde’s hand in belated apology and smiled bashfully when the photographers set off a storm of flashbulbs in his eyes.  He was a man in love. That was the job.

Tilde laughed, all throaty and warm and perfect for someone else.  She didn’t have to do this for Kingsman. She chose to do this. She chose to be brave on behalf of the people who’d been brave for her. Eggsy’s heart gave a hard, fond throb.  She wasn’t the woman he would have chosen if he had a choice, but he could have done a lot worse than the princess of Sweden.

Tilde rose from her throne under the pretense of kissing his cheek, only to whisper, “Are you all right, _hjärtat_?”

Another throb.  Tilde was too good for this.  It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t the one he saw himself ending up with.

“I’m perfect, love. Just thinking.”

_One more week. Just keep going._

+++

Harry put in for seven days of personal leave just before Eggsy’s wedding. He spent the first two of days drowning his incomprehensible sorrows in a Napoleonic brandy he’d unearthed from a discerning collector’s private stash. He spent the third day mining all the data he could find about Eggsy’s movements since Harry’s apparent death and his courtship with Her Royal Highness Tilde of Sweden.  _Leave it to a prince in rags to become a knight and find a princess of his own._   Harry was torn between a pronounced affection for his former protégé and a pang of undifferentiated misery.  He chose not to think too much on the misery. What good could it do? There was a wedding to attend.

He crossed the Pond First-Class and spent the twilight hours after his landing once more attempting to make contact with Merlin or anyone within the organization, to no avail.  There were more security access hurdles to jump than ever in history.  Not that he was surprised considering the attack on Kingsman that had occurred a few short months ago.  The bombing had coincided with a rash of guerilla-style confrontations at Statesman. For that reason alone Harry had been unable to make his return when the agency needed him most. He feared he had waited too long.

Eggsy’s upcoming nuptials were proof only that Eggsy had survived. But what of the others?  Gossip concerned itself with scandal, not with the inner workings of intelligence agencies. Clandestine affairs and illicit flings were fodder for yawning Monday morning chats; enquiries into who carried what title and who had died to bequeath it were met with a much cooler response. Although he had been with Statesman nearing two years, albeit one spent in a medically-induced coma, Harry was still unsure whether he had gained his colleagues’ complete confidence.  Far be it for many of them to trust a man who didn’t enjoy iced tea.  He was doing this alone.

Having failed to reach Merlin and left without the first idea where to physically search for his former kinsman now that all their boltholes had been turned out in violent rout, Harry set his sights on the wedding.  Eggsy had been a controversial recruit during his training to those predisposed to share Arthur’s blinkered ideals while those who felt otherwise had quietly championed him and wanted only to watch him succeed. Those knights would be sure to attend such a celebrated event on Eggsy’s behalf.   All he had to do was get to the wedding.

Harry spent the remaining two days drying out and putting himself together as best he could without Kingsman or even Statesman Tailors to better outfit him for the occasion. A fitted rose waistcoat and black watch tartan trousers beneath a classic tailored jacket.  He was recognizable at fifty paces in his chosen ensemble.  Perhaps it would remind Merlin to recognize him as a friend first and an interloper second.

Harry felt like a tourist visiting his old stomping grounds. London had changed with Valentine’s machinations. Security was more evident. Technology was more thoroughly policed. Most people preferred a phone less advanced than they could afford for fear that it would turn on them at any moment, that it would make the turn on those they loved.  Valentine had done that.  One of the many reasons Harry was happy the man hadn’t lived to see the new world they inhabited. He hovered over it like some magnificent ghost, regardless, the bastard.

 _We toil so much over what we can do, we rarely stop to think if we should._   Brilliant men were historically dangerous that way.

In the run-up to the big event, Harry didn’t waste time pilfering an invite. This was a Kingsman event, he was certain, and would be suitably high tech for the caliber of guests expected to attend. He hacked his Statesman colleagues’ email accounts for the vital details and upon arriving in one of a cavalcade of hired Jaguars, he snuck inside through a side entrance to the old Edwardian church.  It was almost anticlimactic.  Given the sheer amount of security posted around the venue, it was also very concerning.

 _Merlin would be furious if he’d realized how easily his world-class security was circumvented._ Harry took a picture of the untended entrance and sent it to his old friend’s unlisted mobile number via untraceable burner phone. The caption read, ‘Getting lax in your old age?’ He didn’t expect a response, quite sure the number was changed since his last dozen attempts at communication, and was surprised when the mobile vibrated furiously from his inside pocket.

‘Who is this?’ Merlin, or likely one of his minions, had texted in reply.

Harry didn’t respond. He was still debating how to deal with The Matter of Merlin. How to say hello after leaving, seemingly dying without a proper farewell in the first place. How to explain himself to a man that for all his sententious facade would forgive Harry most anything if he asked in the right way. But abandonment in the face of the end of all things? Perhaps not that. Merlin’s loss wasn’t something he was prepared to face. Two years wasn’t time enough to brace himself. _Not yet_ , he thought and put the burner away.

Utilizing his years of experience in appearing terribly posh and equally useless, Harry tottered  amid the bustle of caterers, florists, and other background people of indistinguishable import until he’d made his way upstairs to a terraced seating area overlooking the altar. Here he’d have a perfect view of the main wedding party without risking exposure himself.  He wanted to take the lay of the land before facing his cohorts. He wanted to be well-acquainted with the exits.  _Merlin’s temper won’t make this easy._

The church was beautifully decked in bountiful flower arrangements of delicate pastel blossoms infused with sudden, rich splashes of magenta and violet, all as bold as the bride herself if Harry trusted his memory. They had met once when Princess Tilde was very young, then one of several daughters meant to ascend to the throne when she came of age.  Valentine had made her an orphan and an only child.

A hushed commotion broke out below, prompting Harry to hang back behind a tastefully-sized but unwisely placed bouquet of aisle flowers. Monochromatically dressed individuals in bespoke suits were moving into the body of the church, tortoiseshell glasses giving them away for Kingsman at once. Harry scarcely recognized any of them.  _The bride and groom have arrived_ , he noted absently.  There had been a time when Harry knew every first line knight at the Round Table and many of the second line support agents.  All the ones sweeping through the chapel to stand sentry in the shadows were strangers to him.  _And so young._   That told him more than any tight-lipped memoranda about the toll this year’s attack had taken on the UK branch.  They would be a decade in recouping their strength.

_I should have been with them._

Harry retreated further into the recesses of the gallery to take the measure of Kingsman’s security forces.  A mutely scowling agent at every exit.  Boilersuit-clad support commandos assembling in the eaves of the church on every side of him.  Dapperly clothed guests whose polish read ‘operative’ instead of ‘aristocracy.’ They were embedded three-deep and armed to the gills.  They were lying in wait precisely as he was.  It was only his instincts to shift position in order to avoid detection that had saved him from being confronted thus far.  The civilians decking the box in flowers and ribbons in the bride’s chosen colors had taken one look at him now that his bumbling persona had dissolved and scarpered to the grounds below.  _One of them will tell someone. Let the light show begin._ He would be here, come hell or high water.

He was willing to sit through this wedding for Eggsy’s sake.  There was very little he wouldn’t do for Eggsy Unwin, on balance.  Two years of drug-induced dreams in a damaged mind had only bolstered his feelings for his wayward proposal.  Eggsy was bold and cleverer than he’d given the boy credit for on the hour of their meeting. He was kind when kindness was a battle. He was loving when hatred was the path of least resistance. He was forgiving when forgiveness left a wound. He was Eggsy, just Eggsy, and he was perfect just as he was.

Harry Hart, dead man walking that he was nowadays, still loved him direly.

“Bloody well done,” he murmured to himself, pausing once again to take in this century-old church that would soon join knight and noblewoman in holy matrimony.  “Bloody well done.”

Guests began to drift into the sanctuary in elegant clusters, murmuring softly among themselves as they filled the pews on either side of the aisle. Harry recognized a number of failed Kingsman recruits on Eggsy’s side, mingling with plainclothes agents without obvious bitterness. That never would have been permitted in Chester’s day.  Washouts were persona non grata in Kingsman circles.  _How times have changed. All to the better._   This was a new era he’d like to see up close and for many years to come.

Then, he caught sight of Eggsy, and all his carefully constructed plans went out a stained-glass window.

 

+++

Eggsy wasn’t having the worst wedding day possible.  He’d had head-splitting stag do, courtesy of Roxy and the lads from the Estate. Plenty of dancing. Not a few dancers. No touching, because Eggsy knew what it was like to do what you had to do to get by and they didn’t need his shit. A shitload of drinking.  Eggsy was still feeling his last few shots, Merlin’s Hair of the Dog concoction be damned. Faint nausea notwithstanding, he was in decent spirits for the act he had to put on and that was down to his Her Royal Highness, his wife-to-be.

He and Tilde had texted back and forth the night before, after their respective parties had bedded down for the duration, to commiserate over how Valentine had changed their world for the worse and how this was their best chance to start changing it back.  This wedding wasn’t just about them.  Tilde was marrying him to give her people something to believe in.  Eggsy was marrying her in the hopes of making certain tragic events right.  They were both doing what they had to do; they were partners in the effort.  Tilde was good, so Eggsy would be good for her. Just like Merlin, Percival, Roxy, Harry, and all the others lost had taught him to be.

And he was doing that. He was done up in Royal Marine formal attire belonging to his alias, Edgar Hart—no relation to Harry. Purely incidental.  He still choked up when somebody called him by the name and he damned Merlin and Roxy a bit for failing to talk him out of it.  He was neat as a pin, pressed to straight razor sharpness. Harry would be proud of how well he’d come together on his wedding day. Not a hair out of place, his medals (Edgar’s that Eggsy might have earned had he stuck it out in service) polished to a gleam, his pale face brightened with a cuppa brewed to tar standard.  He was going to be amazing.  _Galahad_ would be amazing for a second generation. His enemies were going to pay, and then life would go on, that little bit emptier but no worse.

Eggsy was fingering his engagement ring with something like bittersweet acceptance when an unnatural movement caught his attention. It was little more than a human-shaped flicker at the corner of his eye. He went still and watchful, all the while pretending to examine the floral arrangement spilling in all sort of pearly hues from the heart of altar. Feigning a look over his shoulder to adjust his aiguillettes, he let his gaze slip to the mezzanine to see a slender figure slip out of plain sight.

“Who was that?” he directed to a lavender-dressed knight fanning a delicate paper fan on the front pew.

The new Gwaine, shedding her harmless guise, rose to artful alertness. “Galahad?”

“Something’s upstairs. Someone moved. Have we cleared the mezzanine?”

Gwaine adjusted a tourmaline earring to activate her comm. “Merlin. Status of the gallery?”

Merlin shot back a muffled, “Pending.”

Eggsy dusted himself off and repaired to the pew beside Gwaine like he was about to have a friendly chat with a distant cousin all while he was toggling one of his embossed gold buttons to tune his earpiece.  “It’s all decorated up there. What’re the civilians saying?”

His mentor rumbled his irritation.  He was taking point on a number of fronts for the occasion: security, comms, and greater operations occurring elsewhere. Merlin was stretched paper thin.  “Patience, Galahad. I’m checking in on all frequencies. Give me five.”

“Do we have five?”

“Let me do my job so I can help you do yours, for Christ’s sake.”

Gwaine winced. She was still in the honeymoon period of her knighthood. Merlin hung the moon and could easily shoot it down with a hacked satellite.  Eggsy couldn’t remember being that awed of the man. Merlin had been a stranger and then he’d been Eggsy’s brother-in-arms. There hadn’t been time for hero worship in all that.

“Sorry, Merlin.”

Eggsy offered her a rueful grin. “Don’t worry. He won’t hold it against you later.”

“I know that,” she rebutted, her Irish brogue shining through despite all her training. “I do know that, and yet…”

“Yeah.”

Eggsy was left wondering if he’d ever been as young as the new crop of knights seemed. Had he shown up with an old man’s baggage and gathered a lifetime more of it in just a couple of years? He must have.  He hadn’t noticed, but then he’d never known anything else.  Struggle was old news.

Merlin signed back on with no indication that he’d overheard Eggsy and Gwaine’s brief exchange.

“Get into position.  Wedding planners and staff report sighting one soul heading toward the terrace from a side door half an hour ago. Chatter indicates he moved up to the mezzanine and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Description.”

“White male. Late forties to early fifties, perhaps older or younger. Dressed formally, like a guest, in fact. As a result,  no one questioned his right to be here.”

“A suit?”

Merlin hummed in the affirmative.  “For all that tells us anything.”

“Any visuals?”

“None yet.”  There was a pregnant pause in Merlin’s report that set Gwaine and Eggsy on edge simultaneously. Merlin didn’t hesitate.  “I received a message on my personal mobile shortly before the first sighting was reported. It was a photograph of an unguarded entrance to the sanctuary.”

Merlin left no point of entry unguarded. The unmanned post meant a casualty. _One down._

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” There was a series of offended coughs coming from the direction of the altar that Eggsy elected to ignore under the circumstances. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were already en route. I have eyes on the entryway and I’m dispatching support to take care of the problem.”

“This could be the guy we want. Let me have a crack at him.”

“I need you where you are, not kicking the shit out of possible combatants. Leave this to me.”

Eggsy leaned toward Gwaine to conceal that he was definitely feuding with the buttons on his placket. “My wedding, my problem. I’m going.”

“Galahad, don’t you dare.”

“Galahad out.”

Gwaine watched with wide-eyed fascination as Eggsy put on a happy smile and promised to be right back with an unconvincing wink.  If Eggsy caught her “He’s out of his fucking gourd” he didn’t turn back to chastise her.

Eggsy was tired. He’d been fighting most of his life for something. To make ends meet after his dad died. To keep his mum safe once Dean showed up. To keep his mum _and_ sister safe after Daisy was born. And then to even become a member of Kingsman. He had fought to make the world a better place and he was determined that no backwards fuck with an ego and more money than morals was going to help them backslide. Not at his wedding. Not so long as he lived.

_Besides, Daisy’ll be here soon. I’ll be fucked if some lunatic is gonna put my lil flower in danger._

The knights running security checks on the chapel and outlying areas of the church shepherded him down the aisle, past the pews but just short of the great doors he and Tilde would be marching through together once his bride was ready. There was turn-off to an old spiraling wooden staircase leading up to the terrace. The walls were draped in more fragrant flowers and lurid ribbons. The entire church smelt like Tilde’s perfume. 

Somewhere in the bowels of the church, Tilde and Roxy and Michelle and all of Tilde’s attendants were putting the finishing touches on themselves.  Though it was customary for Swedish couples to take photographs before the wedding, Tilde had chosen to wait until the reception.  ‘There should be some mysteries left in this little performance, don’t you think,’ she’d said before disappearing to Milan for an undisclosed amount of hen do fun with the girls.

Eggsy pegged over a dozen sharp shooters in Kingsman garb from the terrace landing. They sent him acknowledging looks without moving.  They wouldn’t move for at least another hour when they relocated to the Wellesley Hotel to oversee the reception of the happy couple.  Eggsy trusted that they could disarm any threat the terrace might conceal.

He hadn’t counted on threats coming from inside his head.

“If this is a dream, it’s pretty shit so far.”

Harry Hart had the gall to smile like he wasn’t dead, gone, and ridiculous despite that fact.

“Hello, Eggsy.”

_They’re just the words from before on playback. He’s not real._

“I cannot be crackin’ up now.”

Harry frowned. Another expression so familiar as to be meaningless.  Eggsy could draw that look eyes closed.

“You’re not ‘cracking up’. You’re fine. You’re better than fine.”

Eggsy’s stomach twisted, nausea and dread and hope roiling together to make him regret that anti-hangover unction he’d forced down his gob just this morning. Wasn’t doing him much good now.

“Why are you here? How are you here? I haven’t had a dream about you in forever.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, his mouth pulled tight.  He was forcing something back.  As rebellious as Harry Hart pretended to be, he was at his root still as repressed as the rest. Still denying himself things.

He stood up tall, handsome as fucking anything Eggsy had dreamed up. _Am I still dreaming now?_

“I wanted to wish you well on your big day.”

Because of course he would.  Harry would have been there if he could have been.  Not like a dad or anything.  Their relationship had teetered for an instant on that threshold only to veer sharply back toward something else they hadn’t got to examine.  Eggsy hadn’t had a dad for long, but he’d had a Dean and a Merlin, and he figured the ideal fell somewhere in between (heavily slanted toward Merlin’s steady faith over Dean’s hard-handed justice). What he’d had with Harry was on a different scale, measured in how long their shared looks lasted and the soaring temperature of each glancing touch. In the number of times he’d wondered what kissing Harry might be like.  In how often he thought he saw the very same curiosity reflected in Harry’s eyes.  No, Harry had never been a father figure to Eggsy.  But he was gone, just the same.

“Makes sense,” he quipped, weighing his scarred-over grief against his surely lying eyes.  _Merlin wouldn’t make that up. Merlin heard from_ somebody _._ “It’s cool.  Seeing you around isn’t even the weirdest part of my life anymore.”

Harry made a noise of polite non-commitment. Such a Harry thing to do.  What could you say to someone edging toward madness, anyway?  ‘Good luck’? ‘Watch your step, the drop-off’s steep’? ‘Don’t go’?  His mother was the only one to try the last successfully. She’d been over the edge, she’d said. The climb back was hell on a manicure.

“Hey, Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Come here a second.”

Harry’s gaze flickered knowingly toward the eaves where the sharpshooters were taking deadly aim.  “I don’t think that would be wise.”

_That doesn’t prove anything. He’d know anything I know._

“I wouldn’t let them hurt you.”

“You couldn’t stop them should they deem me a threat. I’m not, but how could they know?”

“You’re not in my head, are you?”

Another unreadable emotion flashed across his face. “Not at all.”

Eggsy sent a sniper shifting positions above a quelling look. He wouldn’t be going back on his word.

“It’s been a bad few years. Convince me. Tell me something I don’t know.”  _Keep talking to me. Give me something to remember you by._

“I’ve missed you a great deal.”

Eggsy knew that look: quietly content, self-possessed, not to mention genuinely pleased to set eyes on Eggsy. When Harry had woken from his chemical coma during Eggsy’s training days he had looked that way.  Still regaining his strength by the bucketful but happy to see Eggsy.  That had been what shut the door on one relationship to lay the groundwork for another. Harry hadn’t been happy to see a surrogate son, any more than Eggsy had been looking for a father.  Harry had been looking for what was his; he found it in Eggsy.

Eggsy crossed the terrace to stare at Harry more closely. He’d seen his share of high-class imposters in two years on the job.  He could be a fake; he might not even know it.

Harry followed his progress, placid as you like, though he didn’t take his eyes off Eggsy for a second.  Eggsy might be his, but they were still spies and for this moment they were on opposite sides.

Eggsy drank his old mentor in.  The lines on his face had deepened. He’d let grey streak his temples.  He had a scar cutting a faint golden trail from brow to temple over his left eye.  It was just visible beneath the frames of his glasses.  His left eyelid was likewise scored from the wound.  Could this be the death blow Eggsy had seen coming through Harry’s own eyes?  It must have been real. Eggsy, who loved him, would have dreamt up something that hurt less.

“If it weren’t for the nice suit you’re wearing, I’d be punching you right now.”  Lie.  Eggsy saved violence for people he didn’t love.

“I might even let you—were it not for your pristine uniform, of course.” Harry rocked on his heels.  Still well-heeled and impeccably tailored. “You’re looking well.”

Eggsy fell into parade rest stance, feeling like a cadet on inspection again. Harry didn’t show it, but he was definitely laughing under that cocked eyebrow. Eggsy shook it off.

“I had a couple of years to get to ‘well.’ Wasn’t always there, bruv. Not after you.”

Harry’s whole demeanor softened. It was like they were back in Harry’s bathroom after their fight, before the world went to shit, except this time they knew what to say.

“I confess I haven’t fared any better.”

Eggsy checked Harry out again. Still strong and broad-shouldered. Still with that stiff upper lip that wouldn’t quit. Still Harry. _How?_

“Where have you been?”

“Indisposed for quite a while, and then at a loss. I feared you all dead.”

“Takes more than a billionaire madman to take us out.”  _Another one_ , went without saying.

“So it does. I’m glad.” Harry squeezed Eggsy’s shoulder.  “Shall we? I hear there have been a slew of knights added to the Table. Catch me up.”  He made to pass Eggsy without letting go, but Eggsy wasn’t going to be that easily deterred.  He watched Harry through narrowed eyes. That wasn’t it. That couldn’t be _it._

“Where you going?”

“There’s a wedding to attend.”

“ _Now_?!”

Harry blinked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.  “I came all this way, even dressed in my best.”  Eggsy smirked. As if Harry Hart would deign to be seen wearing anything more common than bespoke.

“And Merlin’s got that tartan on.”

Harry murmured conspiratorially in Eggsy’s ear, “In a kilt, even. That’s how you know you’ve got an event on your hands. He must approve of her to take such a ready part.”  There was something there, something more tentative that flagged Eggsy’s attention.  He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Yeah, he’s great. Meeting him was one of the best things that’s happened to me.” True.

“Don’t tell him but I feel the same.”

“He’s gonna be pissed you didn’t fucking call, mate.”

“Maybe, but he won’t have long to make hay of me. I have to be back in the States before week’s end.”

Eggsy gaped. He had just gotten Harry back, like hell he was giving him up so the yanks could have another shot at him. “What for?”

“That’s where I’m commissioned,” he answered, remorse abundant.

“So get a transfer. Kingsman needs you.”

“You’ve done beautifully without me. You don’t need me, Eggsy.”

 _But I want you here_ , he didn’t say.

“It’s not just me, though. We need something to celebrate after everything. We need hope and you’re it.”

Harry stepped closer than good manners allowed to read Eggsy’s expression. He was very close. Kissing close if this weren’t a church and today wasn’t Eggsy’s wedding day to someone else.  He warmed the air around him and Eggsy’s clothes and Eggsy’s body beneath them in a way no hallucination could.

“Eggsy?”

“Yeah?”

“I…” Harry blinked and withdrew to a more polite distance when Eggsy only wanted him to come closer, to touch this time.  “I am so very proud of you.”

“You sure? Look at what I got myself into.”

“You’re marrying a princess. I’m not sure regret applies to this situation.”

“It’s not how I would have done things if I knew you were kicking around out there. I wouldn’t have left you to rot.”

“I died, by all reliable accounts. You did what you had to do to ensure that death was not in vain.  You’re a good man and remarkable Kingsman. I only wish I could have been more use to you in the meantime.”

“You gave me something to strive for and after you were gone, Merlin told me about what you used to get up to. Learned my best moves from the Hart Playbook.”

“Something tells me you’ve improved upon it.”

“Nah, bruv. Can’t improve on perfection.”

Harry gazed at him, expression warm and fond, open as Harry wasn’t by nature, adoring as Harry shouldn’t be by trade.  Two years without it and Eggsy had forgotten what it felt like to be looked at like he was something someone wanted to keep.  His heart skipped a couple of necessary beats at the feeling; he began to sweat in his pressed jacket.  It wasn’t the temperature in the church or anticipation. This was 100% Harry, deadly as a viper and unnerving as all hell.

“You gonna look at me like that all day?”

“I haven’t seen you in two years. Let me look my fill a while more.”

Eggsy glanced down at his shoes and smiled. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Harry for more than a couple of seconds since he’d stepped onto the balcony. “You look good.”

“I look old. Near death will do that.”

“I almost die all the time and I’m fresh as a daisy,” he jibed. “You’re just ancient.”

Harry pinched Eggsy’s ear. “Brat.”

“You love me anyway.”

Harry didn’t deny it.

“Are you happy, Eggsy? With all this, with the wedding, the…the bride, and what’s to come? Does that make you happy?”

“Why?”

Harry hesitated, clearly reluctant to say. But as far as Eggsy was concerned being reluctant to cross the line was how they’d gotten stuck like this. He wanted an answer.

“Come on, Haz. It’s not hard. Why do you care?”

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, entirely destroying the line of his suit without seeming to notice.

“I care for you a lot more than I probably should and I want only your happiness.  If this is where your happiness will lead you, I offer no complaint. I only ask that you be sure.”

 “How much do you care about me?”

“More than I have cared about anyone in years.”

“What if I’m not sure? What’ll happen, then? You gonna carry me away on the back of your white horse?”

“I came in a Jaguar, black. Not quite a white horse, but I suppose we can compromise if you don’t mind fudging the details in the re-telling.”  Eggsy had to give it to him, he faked nonchalance better than any small-time bullshitter Eggsy’d met on the Estate.

“You really didn’t come to represent Statesman, did you? I bet they wouldn’t even know you’re here if I asked.”

Harry took the diversion. “They might. Gossip is as valuable as gold at Statesman Headquarters.”

“Why did you come all this way, if not for them? Just to tell me you’re proud of me? Merlin told me you’d be proud of me, back then.”

“He was right.”

“He’s pretty much always right.”

“I’ll deny it if you tell him, but he usually is.  I was lucky to count him as my dearest friend for many years. I hope you can say the same.”

“Comes with the title, he said.  Galahad and Merlin are inseparable.”

“He’s full of shite.”

Eggsy laughed out loud.  “I figured. He’s been there for me from day one. We saved the world together.  That’ll make you friends if nothing else does.”

“I wish I could have seen you.”

“Not much different than I am now. Greener.  Angrier.”  The corners of Eggsy’s mouth dropped, tugged downward by grief.  “Sadder.  I had just lost you and then we almost lost everything.  I fought like every kill was revenge when none of it could bring you back.”

“I am so sorry you were made to suffer. You did nothing to deserve that.”

Eggsy tried to memorize this face. Slightly different, worn and worried; still the only face he could see himself loving.  “You lived, Harry. You came back. That’s not something I deserve, either, but I’ll take it. I’ll take you.”

“Does that mean I should return the Waterford crystal I brought as wedding gift?”

“You’re the only gift worth taking home.”  He poked Harry in the chest.  “And you don’t get to leave again.”

 Harry curled a palm around the back of Eggsy’s neck and leaned down to kiss his brow. “I love you dearly.  You’re going to be splendid as prince consort. Oh, the things you’ll do.”

Eggsy eyed him skeptically, ignoring his burning cheeks. “How much do you love me?”

One more telling hesitation. Eggsy’s hands began to sweat. Harry thumbed his jaw.  Eggsy wanted words for whatever was in Harry’s eyes. He needed to understand it before he put himself in Harry’s hands after all this.

Harry was just about to speak when Merlin, via comm, interrupted what was sure to be _the_ most important moment of Eggsy’s life.  _Fucking hell, mate…_    “Eggsy, we have incoming.”

“You are shitting me.”

“We’ve got incoming,” he relayed to Harry at his puzzled look.  _Don’t forget what you were going to say. Remember._ If Harry never mentioned it again, Eggsy couldn’t be sure this wasn’t one more dream that kept him awake at night.

Harry immediately fell into a defensive posture, placing himself between Eggsy and the entrance to the mezzanine. “Why didn’t I see _that_ coming?”

“You were gazing longingly into my eyes,” Eggsy teased as he dropped back to scope out the chapel from behind a spray of violets, baby’s breath, and lavender.

Harry sighed, though his dimples gave his smile away.  “You’re insufferable.”

“S’not just you. Girls love a pair of greeny-blues.”

“They’re as arresting as the face that holds them.”

Eggsy smirked to distract Harry from the rush of blood to his ears.  Christ but Harry could make anything sound sincere.  “I’m not that easy, love, but try me after a fight.”

A burst of semi-automatic gunfire and shattering glass prompted screams from the captive congregation below. They both lowered to a crouch, hopefully out of sight of the hostiles leaping out of the woodwork.

“Cover the left flank?”

Harry nodded, his gun appearing out of the folds of his jacket. “And you take the right.”

Eggsy listened pensively to the mixed chatter on the Kingsman channel. Harry waited for his blessing to move. That made Eggsy listen that much harder. _This is how it always should have been._

 “For what it’s worth,” Harry murmured in an undertone, “no matter what I said back then, I believe in you. Not because of your father, because of you. And no matter what happens or where I am, I’m always with you.”  He kissed Eggsy quickly, once, twice, and then sidestepped to the balustrade to check for incoming bogeys.

Eggsy’s lips were left tingling from the swift, hard kisses.

“God, I love you.”  He hadn’t meant for that to slip out.

“And I you, Eggsy. I told you that.”

“I didn’t think you meant it the same way.  Some of the knights, they used to talk about me being the son you never had.”

Harry shot him an admonishing look, as if Eggsy was the one infamous for his shit timing rather than himself. “I wouldn't have kissed a son like that. I don't want a son. I want _you_ , in whatever manner you’ll have me.”

Eggsy took out a commando over Harry’s shoulder to give himself a moment to respond.  He had a lot of feelings to examine. Harry was right: this wasn’t the time.

“Been dying to tell you your arse looks amazing in those trousers since I saw you.”

“And you look edible in that uniform. I haven’t been attracted to a man in formal dress since my training days at RAMC.  Evidently, it’s like riding a bike: no matter how long it’s been since I got on, I can always get off.” He drew Eggsy in by his lapels.  “I’d love to see if the adage applies to riding you.”

Eggsy bit his lip, flicking his eyes here and there to watch for approaching hostiles. “You ain’t ridden me before.”

“They say it takes 30 individual attempts to build a habit. Shall we go for 31?”  He kissed Eggsy once more, soft and promising the world.  The slow glide of their mouths together, tongues brushing just so, drove chills down Eggsy’s spine.  Goose pimples danced across his flesh.  His blush from before was nothing to the breathless heat Harry poured him full of.

Eggsy moaned and rasped, “Fuck yeah.”

“Anytime now, Galahad!” Merlin prompted.

Harry released Eggsy with a final biting peck on the lips and cocked his gun.  “Get the princess, darling.  I’ll handle our uninvited guests.”

 

+++

Harry and Eggsy split up on the main level of the church after a last look passed between them.  If this was their final moment together, it wouldn’t be for lack of desire.  Eggsy vanished into the depths of the church to retrieve the bridal party.  Harry took to the sanctuary where all hell had broken loose.

Undercover agents had thrown aside any semblance of harmlessness to defend the civilian guests. Non-combatants were actively being evacuated through an exit behind the altar, their egress defended by finely-suited knights fighting dirty in pairs.  Merlin was at the epicenter of the chaos, eliminating ballistic opponents with his typical brute prowess.  _You can take the rugger from the pitch but you can’t take the pitch away from the rugger._

Merlin was ramming a hard shoulder into someone wearing a balaclava and brandishing a hunting knife when he set eyes on Harry.  He held back a moment too long and would have been gutted from navel to breastbone had Harry not emptied his clip in the poor fellow’s back and head.  Merlin grunted at the spatter of blood and brain matter on the side of his face and threw the body aside.

“You!”

“Me!” Harry jibed, catching another hostile en route to a cowering minister and breaking his neck summarily without missing a step. The minister crawled away.  _So hard to find good help these days._

“You _texted_ me.  That was how you decided to make your entrance.”

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Arsehole.”  Merlin stalked toward him, clotheslining two combatants and pistol whipping another with entirely too much glee for comfort.  It gave Harry far too much comfort to see.  He’d missed that Scottish temper of his.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Merlin glowered Harry into amused submission and Harry scarcely minded.  Merlin was the beacon of an old life flickering in the dawn.  The former Galahad turned King George missed his Merlin, but it was Harry Hart the man that sorely missed his friend.

Like magic Merlin produced an absurdly large arsenal of weaponry that he immediately began disbursing to their sparring comrades. 

Harry ducked a wildly swinging fist attached to an anonymous enemy agent, and then broke the attached arm. He also stole the taser clutched in their hand. They crumpled to the ground in tears; Harry tasered them to unconsciousness because the howling was giving him a headache.

Merlin remained the still point in a storm and he was scowling mightily in Harry’s direction between shouting orders.  “How long have you been alive?”

Harry took the duet of handguns Merlin offered and loaded them automatically, checking for readiness to fire.  He wasn’t intending to die today. He had too much to live for.

“Assuming ‘alive’ starts at conception or…?”

“I’m going to kill you so you don’t have to worry about living with that embarrassment of a joke on your conscience. Why didn’t you get in contact with us?” Merlin dropped his mobile arsenal underneath the nearest pew and withdrew an impressively sized automatic weapon. It complimented his kilt rather nicely, Harry had to admit.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to reach anybody here after the whole thing went belly-up? You closed ranks for months.”  That was months _after_ Harry had woken up and been recovered enough to begin his own investigations into Kingsman’s post-Valentine fate. The Statesman had been too mired in their stateside recovery effort to offer much help.

“A simple phone call—“ Merlin swung ‘round to lay cover fire for a bevy of agents tackling hostiles hand-to-hand.  Harry covered his flank and then his back, choosing deadly accuracy over style to topple to the badly-dressed cannon fodder continuing to stream in through the church doors.

“All unanswered. Numbers changed. Code words nullified. My credentials weren’t worth the system where they’d originated. My aliases were rubbished and their assets had been subsumed into the Kingsman accounts.  I had nothing, so I had to work for it. Statesman, their leader vouched for me and took me in.  They saved my life. I owed them.”

“You should have got in touch!” Merlin insisted, voice heated, irritation pouring from the mouth of his weapon in fits and starts as his rounds found their unlucky targets.

Unable to justify himself further, Harry made to neatly sidestep the matter altogether and dropped the clips of his 9 millimeters to reload.  “I can’t abandon them.”

Merlin rounded on him and stepped in to use Harry’s shoulder as a tripod. “Single shot. Cover your ears and duck.”

Harry complied, still accustomed to Merlin acting from his gut. The barrel was long enough that the heat of shot passed him by and the report was negligible with minimal ear protection at this proximity. They hinged back into position, back to back, taking out combatants as they came.

“You can’t abandon us. Not like you have already. Two years, you twat!”

“You don’t need me. I won’t be a hindrance to you, Merlin. Don’t ask me to make that choice.”

“The Harry Hart I know wouldn’t have considered serving Queen and Country to be a _choice_. It would have been a foregone conclusion. Why isn’t it for you?”

“I’ve changed.”

“I don’t want to hear that. I want to hear why.”

“I’m not sure I have a good answer for you.”

Merlin tensed at his back. His shoulder blades cut into Harry’s shoulders with the rapid pace of his breathing.  Merlin was cool and focused and furious.  _Just like old times._

“To hell with all that. Friendships can be mended. Bodies can heal, whatever it takes. But this…this is a Hail Mary pass and we don’t get many of them, Harry. Give us this.”

“Merlin-“

“I buried Percival! Just this year, Roxy and Eggsy and I buried our friend, what was left of him, next to empty plots for Bors and James and Gwaine.  Next to an empty grave bearing _your_ name.  If you don’t want to be a Kingsman anymore, just be a friend.  Come home for me.”

Merlin never asked for anything he wouldn’t give. Merlin never asked for anything. That was the purpose of a Merlin, to give everything until everything ran out.

Ammo expended, Harry dismantled one of his handguns and jammed the pieces into the eye of an oncoming minion.  He winced at the slick sensation of blood coating his hand.  The sensation, the iron-heavy smell, the spurt and cry, that haunted him.  _I may as well be haunted for a worthwhile cause._

“I’ll need some time to set my affairs in order with Statesman.”

Merlin chuckled between bursts of semi-automatic gunfire. “Seems like it’s you that’s getting soft. You used to drag your heels longer before giving in.”

“You’ll be sick of my stubborn nature soon enough. It’s worse than ever.”

“That, I can believe.”

Harry and Merlin executed a full 360 degree turn about the sanctuary to see where their support might be needed.  Unfamiliar bodies were slumped on the flagstone floor, some still attached to the ropes they’d used to rappel down from the rafters. Others were littered in colored glass. One had a Bordeaux red stiletto protruding from his jugular.  Harry thought he’d spied Lancelot wading into the fray early on.  He had sense enough to be impressed.

“Oi,” Eggsy shouted down from the terrace.  “Have the two of you kissed and made up yet? We could use some help cleaning up this mess.”

Harry unearthed Merlin’s weapons bag from a dumping ground of corpses while Merlin checked in with his agents.  Merlin halfheartedly berated a beaming Eggsy for not calling them upstairs for back-up sooner until Lancelot appeared to drag him off for more damage control. Apparently, the princess beckoned.

That left Harry in the awkward position of having nothing to do as Kingsman took in its surfeit of prisoners for advanced interrogation.  Merlin rounded on him with a speculative gleam in his eye.

“So,” Harry tried to head off his inevitable vengeance, “have we made up yet?”

“Not until you file in triplicate a report detailing where the hell you’ve been for all this time.”

“Triplicate went out with carbon paper. You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a shot to the head.”

“Funny.”

“You owe me two years of birthday dinners and Christmas presents. You can expect to be in charge of our next slate of recruits. I’m holding this agency together with electrical tape. You’ll train them with a smile on your face or else.”

Harry grimaced.  He hadn’t enjoyed the recruiting process since he’d been a recruit himself. Eggsy was the exception.  “I’d rather train the dogs.”

“Thank you for volunteering. You can also train the dogs.”

Harry huffed. “I didn’t avoid you on purpose. I was in a coma, in case you missed that. I was actually shot in the face.”

“I didn’t miss that.”

They both sobered.  Two years gone. Countless friends buried. The manor lost.  Too much sacrificed to waste another day worrying that Kingsman might not need him, scars, damage, and all.

Merlin offered Harry a handshake. “Welcome home.”

 Harry to pulled him into a hug. Some occasions required breaking every rule propriety had to offer. Fighting at the side of his oldest friend again was at least one.

They embraced briefly, exchanging hearty thumps on the back that did nothing to disguise how tightly they held on to each other.

“I’m glad to be back.”

“The world is all changed; it’ll be nice to see something familiar again.”

“The only constant is change,” Harry returned evenly.

“Don’t go getting wise in your dotage. I wouldn’t know what to do with you if you suddenly knew what the hell you were talking about.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Merlin stared him down.  “You should have come home as soon as you could.”

“I did and here I am.”

“Eggsy must be over the moon.”

Harry struggled not to read into the weight of Merlin’s words.  Eggsy had seemed fine, his allusions to poor dreams aside.  There were years of things to learn about Eggsy now.  But now Harry had time.

“I’ve already seen him.  He makes a handsome groom.”

Merlin gave him a look; all of his looks held meanings that were difficult to infer. Harry lacked context.  “You know none of this is real, don’t you? This is for…” Merlin checked their surroundings quickly.  “We’re drawing out the fuckers who took down the manor.  None of this is real.”

Harry shrugged. He hadn’t given it much consideration at the time, simply deciding that whomever his friends were fighting must be the wrong side.  “I thought it might not be.”

Merlin snorted. “You thought nothing of the kind, you peacocking wanker. I know how you feel about the boy. You haven’t missed your chance…yet.  Wait around and you will.”

“I have no intention of waiting.”

Two years was long enough.

 

+++

 

Eggsy did not get married that year.  There was a new brand of terrorist to eliminate, Kingsman-killers the lot of them.  That didn’t leave much time, or need, for a play-acted happily ever after.  Eggsy was regretful, not because he’d wanted to marry a princess—though who wouldn’t?—but because he’d become quite attached to that princess and she to him. Enough so that he was the first to find out when she chose to marry for real the following year. 

The flowers were stunning. The music was note-perfect from bridal march to first dance. The wedding went off without a hitch.

There were no uninvited guests.

Roxy and Tilde made beautiful spring brides. (Turned out that Milan and life-threatening peril were fantastic catalysts for falling in love.)

Tilde was the second invitee to his wedding the year after that (Roxy the first).  When he told her who’d done the asking, she hadn’t sounded remotely surprised.

Roxy had already flown back to Sweden to escort her wife to Kingsman’s new manor where Eggsy’s wedding would be held.  He hadn’t seen much point in picking an exotic locale to wed in when the best parts of his life were right here.

Eggsy’s smile widened at the sound of the French doors opening behind him.  _Arthur must have cut out of his meeting early._  Harry hated status meetings.  Dreadfully boring, he called them while memorizing every word spoken by any agent in attendance.  He hated the administrative drudgery of his job, but he was still aces at it.

Harry joined him on the veranda to oversee the construction of the wedding tent on the rolling hills of the training grounds.  “Dare I ask what’s put that smile on your face?”

Eggsy leaned against the balustrade to gaze up at his fiancé.

 “Dunno, just thinking about how far we’ve come in the past couple of years.”

Harry settled shoulder to shoulder with Eggsy, warm and alive.  “We _have_ come a long way since our last wedding disaster.”

“Here’s hopin’ our wedding goes a lot more smoothly than that.”

Harry engulfed Eggsy’s hand in his.  “I find lately I have so many things to hope for I could never choose just one.”

“Not even one day with no disasters?”

“We’d get through it. So long as I get to marry you in the end, how hardly matters all.”

The frames of their glasses gave a concerted chirp.

“Gentleman, we have incoming!” sounded Merlin over the comms.

“Spoke too soon.” It said a lot about their life together that Harry sounded more annoyed than worried.

Eggsy brandished his weapon and took up aim at the arseholes determined to ruin his summer wedding.  They were running rampant over the grass and trampling the flowers he'd let Daisy plant especially for the occasion.  They were going to pay for that.

“Do  _not_  get shot this time, Harry! I mean it!”

Harry smirked, all unconvincing innocence. “No promises.”

 

+++

 

In summary:

Harry got away wound-free.

Eggsy took a bullet to the knee.

(Merlin scoffed at the irony.)

Kingsman survived intact.

Eggsy did marry Harry, in fact.

And, it all ended happily.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable as being from Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015) and Kingsman: The Golden Circle (2017). They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come flail with me on Tumblr at [sententiousandbellicose](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com). See you there!


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